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magicshopaholic · 2 years

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Weekend Story: A Japanese GP Special (Part 2)

Summary: Years before all the heartbreak and drama, Kim Taehyung walked onto my paddock at Suzuka. Try as I might to look away, he was the only thing I could see on track.

How Taehyung and Dilara first met

Pairing: Taehyung x OC

Genre: Fluff, smut, angst

Word count: 13 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, stress, sexism, jealousy, heavy making out, blowjobs, fingering, dirty talk, sex

Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @meirkive, @dreaming-with-happiness, @kflixnet, @k-radio

A/N: This had to be split - it was wayyy too long. Once again, since this was written long long ago and wasn't intended to be posted, there will be minor inconsistencies and differences in style of writing compared to the rest of the series. The biggest of these is probably that it's told from a first person POV, ie. Dilara's POV.

It picks up straight from the end of Part 1 and ends eight months prior to Los Angeles, taking place over the span of a race weekend.

Listen to: “on se plaît” by françoise hardy

part 1 | taehyung masterlist | main masterlist

qualifying

When I wake up, it’s with the momentary fear that I’ve overslept. I lunge for my phone on the bedside table and sigh out loud in relief when I see that I have a good hour before I need to leave for the paddock. I sit up and realise then that not only am I still naked, but that I’m also alone.

It isn’t… shocking. I know we’d fallen asleep together for sure, because I remember my sleep breaking somewhere in the middle of the night as I shifted and feeling Taehyung’s arm around my waist, his chest pressed against my back, his face in my hair and his leg over my hip. But one look at the bathroom tells me that he isn’t in there and another sweep around the room makes it apparent that his clothes have disappeared as well.

I step out of bed and head straight into the shower, calmly, methodically. There’s something a bit unsettling about this - but I reason with myself that it’s not inconceivable that Taehyung may want to go back to his own room for a shower or a change of clothes, or even just go back to his room. But it’s the fact that he just left, especially when I was asleep. When I come out of the shower, hair in a bun and towel wrapped around me, I even check the dresser for a note or something, followed by my phone for a call or a text or something.

When I find nothing, I give up. I can’t care this much about a boy I just met and fucked - not today. Not on Qualifying day. I officially compartmentalize and, putting on a Red Bull t-shirt, jeans and Doc Martens, I grab Max’s hoodie to return it and throw on a leather jacket (my own hoodie still in the back of Taehyung’s car) and grab my bag. I’m just on my way out when I notice that Tae’s left his hoodie, the black one I’d been wearing all day yesterday. Ignoring it, I head downstairs.

It doesn’t get any better. I’m sitting at a table with Lexie, Max, Alex and Max’s trainer Dean, everyone in Red Bull gear, with a plate piled with nothing but fruit and a bowl of cereal next to it. I don’t want to think about why I’m not hungrier; it becomes more difficult when I spot the group troop into the restaurant and take a table at the back, all looking like they’ve just woken up. Taehyung is in another black hoodie that I’m assuming is Jungkook’s, only because it’s absolutely enormous. It doesn’t matter, though, for it doesn’t escape my attention that even when dressed like a hobo, Taehyung looks absolutely gorgeous, with his hair effortlessly falling into his eyes and face smooth and impassive as usual as he scans the food he walks past with no expression.

It also doesn’t escape my attention that, despite standing at the buffet right across from him, he walks past me as though I’m a stranger. I’m frozen in front of the croissants for a moment, my already elusive appetite disappearing entirely, wondering what the fuck just happened. When I walk back to our table, I realise my plate is empty, but I can’t be bothered.

Listen, I’m not that girl, alright? I know what a casual hook-up is. I’ve had them, I prefer them a lot of the time. If looked at from a certain point of view, Taehyung was exactly that: a popstar who fooled around with a fan after his concert and fucked her the next night because they happened to live in the same hotel. It’s fine if that’s what it is, I tell myself, even as I feel my heart fall into my stomach at the thought. But I just want to know.

With a great deal of effort and courage, loathing myself, I actually turn around in my chair to look at the BTS table, hoping I’m wrong and that maybe Taehyung genuinely hasn’t seen me. Instead, Jimin catches my eye and raises his eyebrows, lifting his hand in a half wave. He nudges Taehyung, who seemingly ignores him, heavily focused on his eggs. Even Namjoon notices me and gives me a small smile.

I turn back in my chair to face my friends, starting to feel a whole different kind of anxiety, not to mention irritation. I force myself to focus on the conversation in front of me and almost cry with relief when Daniel and Michael stop at our table and we all decide to head to the paddock together.

Daniel takes one look at my plate. “Fruit? Where’s the good stuff?”

“I’m not hungry,” I mumble as I push my chair back in and pick up my bag.

“Oi, that’s not healthy at all,” he informs me while Michael nods at his side, both looking very tan and very Australian. Without permission, he snags a slice of toast from the bread station next to him and shoves it at me. “Eat it, come on.” I know by now that Danny is stubborn and if he wants me to eat toast, I’m eventually going to. So instead of arguing, I simply reach forward and bite off a large piece from the slice in his hand and force it down.

“Attagirl,” says Max, clapping me on the back and putting his arm around my shoulder as we all head out. Just as we’re exiting, I sneak another last look at the BTS table. Taehyung’s still looking at his food, his usual smooth and sharp side profile visible, but I could swear that he’d just been looking at me. I can’t be sure, though, but before I can mull over it any further, Max pulls me away and we head to Suzuka.

An hour later, I’ve found an extra Red Bull hoodie that I’m literally snuggling into, given how cold it is at the track. Natalie Pinkham holds a mic before me, asking me what I’m expecting today. I love Natalie but it isn’t the most insightful question, given that I have absolutely no idea what to expect - but the last thing I can do is admit that to the world.

I’m doing what I do best, which is evading, my hands balled into fists in the pockets of my hoodie and strands of my hair blowing in the cold breeze when I hear a collective shriek and I just know, even before I’ve looked up, who it’s for. It’s not surprising, for haven’t I been waiting for them to show up?

I try not to look at them too obviously. I’m still a bit annoyed, if I’m being honest (and worried, but we won’t go there) and frankly, I could care less if they showed up or not. But they do and in some sick coincidence, have to literally pass right by me to get to the Honda camp where I’m presuming they will be briefed on their PR for the day.

Hoseok is the first one I see, dressed par for course in comfy jeans and a jacket. All of them are dressed well - they always are - and walk with confidence, waving occasionally at the tons of Japanese fans in the paddock. He comes in right at the end, standing in the corner next to Jin, looking rather like he’d be anywhere else but here.

I try not to let that get to me - his face always looks like that, I tell myself. But then he shifts slightly to the side and my heart skips a beat, for while Kim Taehyung looked like peak boyfriend material yesterday, today he looks like he belongs on a freaking runway. He’s in black trousers, a white button down and a dark green blazer, hair styled to casual perfection. His hands are shoved into his pockets as he walks along with the rest of the band, all tall and uncaring and incredibly charismatic.

But no. I cannot afford thoughts like these, not when I have zero indication from him as to what’s going on and have a Qualifying to prepare for. They’re walking towards me, though. I have to focus all my energy on Natalie and look anywhere but at him, even while the weakest part of me waits in anticipation for when he will have to walk past me to enter the Red Bull Honda enclosure.

They reach me quicker than expected. Given that I’m in an interview, I don’t actually expect them to say anything at all, but I have to know that Taehyung, who was finger-fucking me about twelve hours ago, will at least look at me. He doesn’t, though; he hangs back a bit behind the group and walks right past me, close enough that I can smell his lotion and cologne as he sweeps past, towering over me.

I don’t know what to think. Thankfully I’m not fully alone; Lexie, after a recovery from bad sushi, is at the paddock today, still looking a little pale. Dark-haired with olive skin and a dancer’s body, she looks a lot like me, enough that people have mistaken us for sisters. I realise only while she’s helping me warm up that she’s missed all the BTS action in the last day and a half. I decide to tell her later, only if and when there’s something worth telling.

Free Practice - the only free practice - begins in an hour. I drive out, head full of numbers and strategies and tactics and come back some ten minutes later with a reasonable amount of feedback. I stay in the car, my helmet off and sipping on warm lemonade from a Red Bull can while I wait for an engineer to bring me the data from my drive. My gaze roams around to finally land on none other than two members of the group standing at the edge of the garage and chatting up a couple of fans.

Not fans as in a throng of screaming girls, but exactly two fans, two girls who are laughing and talking to Taehyung and Jimin, the two biggest flirts of the band. Amidst all the mixed emotions, I once again have no choice but to admire how flawless he looks, one hand on his hip, pushing his blazer back. There’s a moment where Jimin is measuring his pinkie with those of the girls and Taehyung joins in as well. I watch with a sinking feeling in my stomach as one of the girls places her pinkie against his and, when it’s deemed smaller, links their fingers and brings their hands down.

Taehyung makes no great effort to retrieve his hand; it happens smoothly and casually and ends up back in his pocket. At that moment, still laughing, he looks around and his gaze stops right at me. I look away immediately, mortified at being caught staring at what can only be described as a one-night stand who clearly couldn’t care less. That’s the word, isn’t it? It’s humiliating, to be sure, but more than anything, it’s mortifying. It’s mortifying to know that I more or less fell for a popstar who, since he can’t date, does this more regularly than I would’ve believed; it’s mortifying to know that he got what he came for; and it’s an unprecedented level of embarrassment I feel when i remember how I poured my fucking heart out to him last night about my past.

Sitting there in my car and staring hard at the dials on my steering wheel, I feel a prickle in my eyes. But I know crying isn’t an option. Crying over a boy is not an option and, more importantly, crying in front of my team is absolutely not an option. As a girl, every emotion I display is automatically blown out of proportion; the last thing I need to do is give them more fodder. So instead, I go out again and reach P3 in the FP standings.

We have a break before Qualifying. Lexie and I grab lunch outside the Red Bull building; I’m still on the fence about whether or not to say anything to her about Taehyung. She knows they’re here, of course; she’s as big a fan as I am. We’re just finishing up when she fixes her gaze on something behind me and lets out a low groan.

I turn around to see him on the phone and, indeed, looking over in our direction. “Oh. Yeah, that’s him,” I say uneasily just as he catches my eye and raises a hand in greeting.

“Oh, God, it’s him,” she whispers longingly. “It’s Namjoon. Is he - is he taller in real life. He looks incredible. He looks -” she pauses. “He’s looking right over here.”

“Is he -” Lexie chokes. “Is he coming over here? Does he - do you know him?” All this is asked in furious whispers as Namjoon comes over, now shoving his phone in his pocket and smiling at us.

“Hey, Dilara,” he says easily, a huge contrast to how his stupid band member is being. “We saw you drive - man, how fast do those cars go?”

“Pretty fast,” I admit, smiling slightly - because, really, how can I not smile back at him? “By the way, this is my trainer and friend, Lexie,” I tell him, pointing to the horny mess that she surely is right now.

Namjoon immediately greets her with a winning smile and Lexie’s reaction doesn’t disappoint when she nods and stutters out a reply before smiling back. I watch her in mild amusement as he responds like a true gentleman, privately glad that I was a bit more graceful while meeting them - hopefully. Just before he’s about to leave, he turns to me.

“By the way,” he says, picking a grape out of the bowl I offer him, “you really did a number on him.” With that extremely cryptic piece of information, Namjoon waved and strolled back towards the Honda building.

I stay there, frozen, not knowing what he means or how to answer Lexie’s incredulously questioning expression. Well, I think I know what he means because there aren’t a lot of guys I may have done a number on, but… what does he mean? Is Taehyung angry about something? Is that why he’s been avoiding me? Is he shy? Is he - and here’s where I might have to kill myself - regretting last night?

“Dilara!” Lexie snaps her fingers in front of me. “What is it?”

But I can’t answer, because the fury rising in me is essentially clouding everything else. This is ridiculous; I’m at a goddamn race weekend and some guy (that I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen hard for) that’s slept with me is ignoring me like we’re in high school, while his friend comes over hours later to give me the vaguest detail ever? A number on him? Seriously?

“I have to qualify today,” I state. Lexie frowns.

“I - of course, you do. You - what?”

“Yeah, I need to qualify,” I repeat, standing up now. “Think we have time for a track walk?”

We don’t, but that’s beside the point. I’m not spending another moment pining over some jackass, even if he does look like an Adonis, who sneaked out the morning after and can’t be bothered to make eye contact with me. I’m back in the car an hour later, now fully focused on Q1, when my phone buzzes next to me. Lexie picks it up and frowns. “Good luck,” she reads, “from… who’s Tae - wait, Tae - Taehyung?”

Her wide eyes hold too many questions and I don’t have the mental bandwidth to answer them all. “I’ll tell you later,” I say shortly, struggling to stay focused on Qualifying. She gets it and doesn’t probe further, while I strap on my helmet with unnecessary force, now beyond annoyed with the situation. “Don’t reply to it,” is the last thing I say to Lexie before Simon tells me on the radio to head out.

I drive with everything I’ve got, conscious of the fact that I do have Q2 and Q3 to get through. As expected, Q1 ends with me in the top six, and my car gets brought back in to wait for Q2. I look up at the TV to see who I’m competing with: today, a Ferrari and an Alpine have been eliminated, which means both Haases and George Russell as usual have made it into Q2.

I watch the TV while I wait, looking at replays and Max’s final lap which puts him at P1. The camera pans over the Red Bull garage to cover me, Christian and even - my heart jolts - members of BTS standing with headphones on and watching.

Focus, I tell myself immediately as Q2 begins. I get sent in almost five minutes after everyone else in a pursuit of clean air and I zoom out, determined not to let Suzuka get to me. I’m aware that the tradeoff for clean air is that while everyone else might get three attempts, I only get two. It’s no matter, for I go out on a set of soft compound tyres and fly to P1.

I’m just as shocked as everyone else. It’s not the end of Qualifying, but it’s something, especially on such a treacherous track. My engineers are rattling off streams of encouragement while I drive back, ready for a set of mediums that I will most likely start my race on tomorrow. My P1 position is slipping fast; everyone’s already on their second round. With less than two minutes to go, I’m sent out again.

I drive with fire in my bones, the adrenaline pumping and the car feeling like butter under me. I start my flying lap with nothing but the track to focus on, just the road and the kerbs, feeling my arms and my neck withstand the pressure of the g-force. I’m midway through sector two, hitting every apex, running into no traffic -

There’s a jolt that almost makes my stomach fall out and I feel myself lifted off the ground before I crash into the barriers with a sickening thud that I know is my poor car getting destroyed. “What the fuck?” I shout furiously into my mic, hearing my own voice shake. “Was that - who was that? Was that Mazepin?”

“That will be investigated, Dilara,” comes Simon’s voice, following some static. “Are you good?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I mutter, undoing my seatbelt and stepping out with a marshall’s help. I stumble out of the car, feeling a dull ache in my ankle. I take off my helmet right there to go and inspect my car which, wouldn’t you know it, has the entire rear destroyed.

“Ma’am,” says the marshall behind me, gesturing to the medical car. “You need to get checked out, ma’am.”

I nod and we drive to the medical centre as the red flag signs come on and the Qualifying halts. I comply with the doctors but I am fuming. When Vicki Reid enters the centre, I immediately demand to see a replay. It comforts me that she seems just as angry on my behalf, enough that she hands me her phone immediately so I can see the live replay.

I was right; it was Mazepin. The camera follows my car into sector two behind the Haas on its out lap (out lap!). For some reason, he tries to race me and pushes me off entirely. I wince as I see my car flying into the barriers and hear my own shaky voice as I curse.

The camera then pans to the garage, where the pit crew shouts at the screen, where Christian punches the table and shakes his head, and, in a shot with Kim Taehyung, Park Jimin and Kim Seokjin, Taehyung’s eyes widen as he jerks in shock, with very obvious fear in his eyes.

It’s the only thing right now that can give me pause. I hand the phone back to Vicki as the doctor signs off, telling me my foot might be a bit sore for a couple hours but there’s no reason I can’t race tomorrow. Then we walk back to the garage just as Q3 begins - but I can’t give a fuck about Q3 right now; I’m so mad. I also can’t get Taehyung’s face out of my mind. Both the others in the shot had looked shocked as well but Tae… he’d looked terrified.

It turns out that since I had such a good lap time before I crashed out, I start at P11 tomorrow. Christian hugs me and agrees that it doesn’t make up for anything, that he’s going to make sure Mazepin gets a penalty for this, and that we’re going to work on a strategy tomorrow to fix this. I nod, trying not to scream out of anger. I go straight to the mechanics and start to apologise but one of them cuts me off with a hug, telling me they’re just glad I got out okay.

I make it through what remains of Q3 with Lexie, watching as Max puts the car on pole. In a surprising twist of events, Seb and Alonso get penalized for racing each other, both of them receiving three-place grid penalties, pushing me up to P9. It’s not great, but it’s something.

As the post-qualifying interviews take place, I head out of the garage to the fridge to get myself a bottle of water. Since I didn’t participate in Q3, my interviews are already done. Just as I’m about to open the door, a slender hand appears in front of me, a white gold band around the index finger, and opens the door for me.

Ignoring how my heart skips a beat, I refuse to turn around and instead just take a bottle. “Are you okay?” he asks, the first thing he’s said to me since whispering sweet nothings into my ear last night while we lay naked in bed together.

“Mhm,” I answer shortly. “What, were you worried about me?” I can’t keep the slight scoff out of my voice, even as I try hard to act like I don’t care that he’s been ignoring me all day.

“Of course I was,” he replies immediately, like it’s the most obvious thing. “I think I’ll be this worried every single weekend from now on.”

Every single weekend. I pause while screwing the cap back on the bottle. I just can’t deal with this anymore. How complicated is this guy? Why is he so determined to act like I don’t exist, even while he’s sending me good luck messages and fearing for my life?

I finally look up at him just as Vicki calls both of us for a group picture. We both look to see the rest of the band, Max, Christian, Geri and the head of Honda waiting for us. We nod at the same time just when Taehyung turns back to me, almost taking my breath away with how good he looks.

“By the way,” he says, and his voice is suddenly lower, smoother, “you’re really cute when you get jealous.” With his trademark smirk and eyebrow raise, he takes a couple of steps back before turning around and strutting over to the group.

Okay, not that complicated.

I don’t know what it is exactly that I’m feeling as I follow him slowly. There’s too many emotions flooding through me, relief and annoyance tied for the top spot. But as I watch him reach the group and turn around to face the camera and lock eyes with me, arm raised slightly in a silent call for me to come stand next to him, I know that despite everything else I may be feeling, I don’t back down from a challenge.

You have no idea what you’ve done, Kim, I think silently as I walk up and stand beside him. He’s clearly glad; I can see a smile appear on his smooth face as he rests his hand on my left shoulder. Hesitating briefly and checking that it’s just Seokjin standing behind him, I lean into him very slightly and place my hand on his back, taking care to slide it up. I’m looking straight into the camera but I can see in my periphery how his smile widens into a real smile as opposed to his model smile. Swallowing the relief I’m too stubborn to acknowledge, I smile, too.

The driver’s briefing isn’t for another hour so everyone is hanging out in the press room. Half the drivers are in team briefings and the journalists are also nowhere to be seen, giving the drivers and, in this case, BTS some free time after Qualifying. It’s a pretty comfortable room, almost like a lounge, with food and drink spread out on tables along the sides.

Since Taehyung and I can’t approach each other in public, I use this opportunity to consider what I’m feeling. Thankfully Lexie isn’t here, which means I don’t need to get into the story of it with her, but it also means that I’m figuring this out alone.

You look cute when you’re jealous. I could kill him. Literally get on top of him, wrap my fingers around his throat, squeeze hard until he flips us over and smirks at me, long hair falling in his eyes -

“Goddamnit,” I whisper out loud and pour myself a coffee. I don’t move, however; I stay standing at the table when, to my horror, I catch a whiff of a familiar scent of lotion and cologne until Taehyung comes to stand right next to me, oh so casually scanning the sandwich bar. I don’t know if he’s here to talk to me or what, but I’m saved from guessing when Daniel Ricciardo sidles up on my other side and sneaks my coffee out from right in front of me.

“Finders keepers, Komyshan,” he says cheekily, clapping my shoulder. “Want a bite? I got the last one.” I look up to see him holding a brownie in his hand. I nod vigorously so he lowers it to my mouth and I take a bite from his hand.

“Oh, wow,” I mumble through a mouthful of brownie. “Of course you got the last one.”

“Yeah, I’m fast,” he says cockily, grinning and brushing a crumb off my cheek. Next to me, I hear a clang, possibly of a cup being slammed on a saucer. Danny hasn’t noticed, speaking to Max across the room, but I have and I turn very slightly to look at Taehyung. He isn’t looking at me either, but he’s biting his lip and his jaw looks hard enough to cut glass.

I take a tiny step back so my shoulder brushes against his arm but he makes no move to acknowledge it. I turn around a bit more as Danny leaves and - I can hardly believe it - see Taehyung glare in his direction before turning around wordlessly and stalking back towards the rest of the band. Jimin is stifling a laugh with his fist while Hoseok isn’t even bothering with that, but all it does is give me the perfect idea - so perfect, that I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to see it.

I turn to survey Daniel Ricciardo where he’s sitting in light blue jeans and a long-sleeved McLaren t-shirt, curls long and thick. When it comes down to it, Danny is the opposite of Taehyung in every way: he’s loud, unsubtle, white, hardcore millennial, and can’t sing or dance to save his life. But despite all that, no one can deny that if there’s one similarity between them, it’s that Daniel Ricciardo is god-tier hot when he wants to be.

For a moment, I reconsider. Maybe I’m being too petty? I look down at my phone to check the time and see one unopened message on WhatsApp. It’s the same one from Taehyung that he’d sent me during qualifying, wishing me luck. The same time that I’d been agonizing on the inside as to whether he gave two shits about me at all.

And the decision is made.

I make my way over to where Danny is sitting on the sofa and connecting his phone to the stereo’s Bluetooth. He’s just played some vague R&B track when I reach him and place a hand on the back of the sofa behind him, essentially leaning over him. He looks up to see me and immediately frowns.

“Uh, what’s happening?” he asks, blunt as ever.

I consider lying for a moment but then sigh. “I’m trying to make someone jealous and I need your help.”

His frown clears somewhat. “What - what do you mean?”

“What do I mean? Come on, you’re a guy. You know exactly what I mean.”

His face relaxes into a grin. “Yeah, I do. It’s a risky game, padawan,” he says, cocking his head and leaning back against the couch. “Risky, but effective.”

I smile back. “Great. So, can you just… do something that’ll piss him off?”

Danny’s gaze flickers away from me momentarily before he tilts his chin slightly higher towards me and suddenly, goofy Dan’s gone and sexy Dan from Monaco 2016 is here. “I think you talking to me in such close proximity is doing it already.”

My heart skips a beat. “Really? Is he - is he looking? Wait -” I bite my lip. “How do you even know who I’m talking about?”

He gives me a look. “I’m guessing it was the bloke in your room last night wearing nothing but a towel?” I can’t stop myself from smiling as I lower my head, hoping I’m not blushing. “Oh, that was great. Do that again,” he tells me. “Guys hate it when another guy makes their girl laugh.”

“Okay, so tell me something funny,” I say, ignoring how my heart zooms at that..

“Technically, it’s Bon Iver,” he says, leaning back as well. “But, yes, it’s exile by Taylor Swift.”

Danny bites his lip and grins, sitting forward so his face is closer to mine. “You know, I don’t know why you need my help,” he says. “You really seem like you know what you’re doing.”

Of course, that makes me smile in pride again. Just then a song plays on the stereo that I recognize. “Wait, is this Taylor Swift?” I ask, genuinely surprised as I stand upright.

“Wow,” I exclaim, flopping on the couch next to him. “Who would’ve thunk it? I mean, I love this song. Like, love.”

“Doesn’t everyone? Okay, here we go - I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending,” he begins singing, face screwed up in mock angst.

“So who am I defending now?” I join in, one octave higher, just as passionately again. All games of jealousy forgotten, we belt out the entire song together, neither of us very good, a sub-par impromptu duet in the middle of the press room. When the bridge begins, Danny pulls me up as I throw a grape at Lando who’s snickering and filming us.

“All this time,” he sings, clutching a pretend mic, “I never learned to read your mind.”

“Never learned to read my mind,” I echo, loving this song all over again.

“So many signs,” we sing together, just as he grabs my right hand and spins me around before pulling me in. I giggle in surprise as Lando and Max mockingly hoot and continue filming us. We’re sure to make it onto one Lando Norris’s Instagram today when I see a flash of something dark disappear out the door. I freeze as Danny falls to his knees beside me, belting out the last note, because I think I know what it is.

As the song ends, I feel the smallest bit of guilt creeping into my stomach because I know that I’ve crossed a line, that I may just have taken a fresh, intimate memory with Taehyung and tainted it with a petty agenda.

Slowly, I turn towards where the rest of the group is seated and I know instantly that I’m right. None of them look surprised per se; the only one who catches my eye is Jimin, who has a mildly exasperated look on his face, and shakes his head slightly at me, essentially letting me know it’s not good. I nod and immediately excuse myself, hurrying out the door.

It’s not too hard to find him. The press office is about twenty yards away from the Red Bull energy station and the Honda office. When I reach the enclosure, I spot a tall figure standing at the edge of the garage, scrolling through his phone with his other hand in his pocket. Taehyung looks up to see me, face smooth and impassive as ever, revealing nothing.

But I know him. I know, it’s been a day and a half, but I know him. I know this, at least. I know he’s angry, hurt, jealous - or some combination of the three. We look at each other in silence for a moment, alone for the first time since he sneaked out on me this morning. That memory is all I need to remember why I did this in the first place.

I turn on the spot and start walking. I don’t turn around to see if he’s following me because if I know him as well as I think I do, I know he is. He’s probably looking like a runway model while he does it, but he’s doing it. I keep walking until I reach my changing room and unlock the door, entering and turning around only when I hear the door lock behind me.

I stand with my arms folded across my chest as Taehyung leans back against the table at the opposite end of the room, hands in his pockets, surveying me coldly. I swallow; this isn’t how I was picturing the next time we’d be alone together. I don’t want to apologise - I won’t. I force myself to think about how I’d feel if I saw him dancing like that with one of those fangirls and I instantly want to throw something.

I lick my lips slowly. “Okay,” I say finally. “I know I may have gone a bit too far just now. But you know… you did ignore me all fucking day and - what are you doing?”

He’s taken off his jacket and pauses while unbuttoning one of the cuffs of his shirt. He raises his eyebrows slightly. “Keep going.”

I clench my jaw. “You sneaked out on me this morning. You really didn’t want to deal with the awkward morning-after with a one-night stand? You could’ve dropped me a text. Do you think I’m some pathetic, needy - okay, seriously, what are you doing?”

Taehyung’s rolled back both his sleeves to just below his elbows and is unbuttoning his shirt, stopping when I exclaim, just before his pecs start. His expression is unmoving; cold, smooth, impassive, with cheekbones that would put any model to shame. He slowly takes a step towards me, and then another, and another until he has me backed up against the wall.

“Keep going,” he repeats, voice deep and calm. Too calm. He licks his lips slowly and nods at me to continue.

“I -” I struggle to steady my breathing. He’s so close; his bangs fall into his dark eyes and he flicks them out, gaze unmoving. “I’m not a clingy lay. If you’d - if you’d had enough, you could’ve told me,” I add, breath stuttering when his hands reach for my belt and start deftly undoing it, slender fingers unbuttoning my jeans and unzipping it.

“Keep going,” he says a third time, not taking his eyes off me for even a moment. “Or do you want me to stop?”

Fuck. It sounds quietly threatening but I know, just like I knew that he was pissed, just like I knew that he’d follow me, that underneath the suppressed fury, he’s asking me for my consent. And, man, does he have it.

I swallow, looking him back in the eye and trying to ignore his fingers lightly brushing me through the denim. “I - you didn’t even look at me when we were sitting in the same fucking restaurant,” I continue in a low voice. The slightest of smirks appears at the corner of his mouth as his hand slips into my jeans. When he softly palms me through my underwear, I let out a gasp and see him raise an eyebrow and I’m shocked at how wet I am.

“I did. I just didn’t want you to see.” His voice is deep and sultry and I’m powerless to stop.

“And then you were - you were walking around, looking all famous and sexy,” I stutter, squeezing my eyes shut when he presses the ball of his palm against my clit. I have to struggle not to moan out loud. “I had to just sit around in the garage watching you do your fanservice while I was just sitting…” I finally open my eyes and look at him, silently pleading, “... inside.”

The smirk grows but he doesn’t comply - not until I let out an actual moan and shut my eyes involuntarily. He slips two fingers in and I lean my head back against the wall and bite down on my lower lip, hard.

“Keep going.”

I nod, not wanting him to stop. “I was - I was so mad at you and then I got sad and then - then I decided to… to be mad again,” I ramble on, barely aware of what I’m saying while his fingers curl inside me and his thumb brushes against my clit. “Oh, fuck, Taehyung,” I gasp, letting go of all pretense.

Apparently the sound of his name is all he needed to hear. His eyes darken under his long hair and all signs of teasing leave his face. “You were mad at me?” he asks, his voice a deep, rumbling mess. His thumb presses against my clit without warning and I raise my hand to clutch his shirt but he preempts it and grabs it, holding it against the wall.

“Yeah, I - I was.” I force myself to look him in the eye, this incredibly hot, sexy, jealous Taehyung that I’d do anything for right now. “Especially when - when you tried to make me jealous? You really thought that would work?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t it?” he asks coolly.

His thumb is drawing circles against my clit now and I know I have maybe a minute at most before I come all over his hand. “Sure,” I manage, “but I think my plan worked out a lot better.”

I’m provoking him and I’m not surprised when it works. Taehyung says nothing, but his jaw hardens and his fingers move faster. He lowers his head slightly and I think for a moment that he’s about to kiss me, but he tilts it at the last moment so his lips hover near my ear.

I’m so close now. “Oh, God,” I whisper, shutting my eyes and tilting my head back. “Don’t stop, don’t stop…” My leg bends at the knee of its own accord and I feel my stomach contracting when suddenly, his fingers disappear and he places his hand on my hip.

“I think that’s enough, don’t you?” A deep murmur against my neck and he retreats, still standing right in front of me, looking unbelievably smug.

“I hate you,” I groan, shaking my head and resting it back against the wall.

“I know. Looks like you’ll have to take care of it yourself.”

“Mhm,” I nod, “or find someone else to take care of it for me.”

And there it is. Taehyung’s face clouds over again. “Really?”

I nod, though, pushing my luck at this point. Brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes, I speak and move my mouth closer to his. “I mean, I’d really prefer you to do it but… you saw my other options, right?”

It works like a fucking charm. Thirty seconds later I’m so close, so close that I’m clutching the front of his shirt and moaning his name, trying my hardest not to be too loud. His lips are at my jaw and trailing down to my neck until they reach my ear and he whispers for me to come for him.

“Fuck,” I mutter two minutes later, panting in the aftermath of that glorious orgasm. Taehyung’s looking down at me in a mixture of lust and fondness and for a moment I can’t quite believe that I’d thought he’d considered me just a one-night stand. He places his hands back on my hips and waits for me to finish buttoning my jeans and buckling my belt before pulling me in for a surprisingly sweet kiss.

I respond without hesitation, lightly tugging on the collar of his shirt and savouring him after what feels like ages. Taehyung does, too, pushing me back against the wall and running his hand up my back before pulling away reluctantly. “Will I see you again tonight?” he asks, his previously narrowed eyes now wider and more hopeful. His eyes search my face as though he hasn’t seen it in ages and he runs his thumb across my cheek.

I bite my lip. I’m sure it hasn’t slipped his mind either that my flight leaves tomorrow right after the race; I’d mentioned it to him last night and we’d both become quiet for a few moments before he’d hastily changed the subject. I don’t want to talk about it right now, though.

“Yeah, of course,” I answer, brushing his long hair out of his eyes. His face breaks out into a soft smile as he pulls me closer to him.

“Good.” He lowers his head and kisses me again, the same nice, toe-curling kiss, so unlike what happened when we first entered the room. We both leave minutes apart; he goes back to the group and I head over for the drivers’ briefing, feeling all tingly and fucked out, the spots on my neck still feeling hot from when he’d kissed me there.

Nikita Mazepin gets horribly called out for his stupid move that fucked up my Qualifying. Apart from that, I can barely focus on the briefing; in any case, most of the session is taken up by Seb and Fernando arguing over their incident after which I hitch a ride back to the hotel with Max, Lexie and Dean with us. I head straight into the shower and emerge twenty-five minutes later, hair clean and curly.

Wrapped in a towel with my wet hair down one shoulder, I gingerly pick up my phone, wondering what to tell Taehyung. I have to see him tonight; there’s no question about that. The fact that it’s our last night together has dawned on me all of a sudden and it’s making my stomach twist so unpleasantly that I think I may throw up. It’s inconceivable that I’m this attached to a man I met only forty-eight hours ago - but it’s happening, and the dread feels like it’s looming..

But when I open my chat with him and look at the last message (Good luck) and all the pictures before that, my heart stutters. I open my favourite one, the one that had become my favourite the moment I’d seen it: I’m on his back while he walks, my arms around his shoulders and one hand clutching his baseball cap. My hair is long and wavy, falling to one side as I turn my head towards him and kiss his cheek. Taehyung’s face - and this is my favourite part - is caught in what I can only describe as wonderfully surprised, eyes slightly wide but his smile even wider as he looks into the camera. Our faces are lit by the sunlight, our hair looking bright and black against our white t-shirts. Matching outfits.

We haven’t talked at all about how we feel about each other. It doesn’t make sense that we would; a weekend fling is barely a fling, yet somehow I know that this is just as confusing for him as it is for me. Just as I’m contemplating it even further, my phone buzzes and I almost drop it when I see Taehyung’s name. Heart skipping a beat, I answer it.

“Hey, beautiful.” His voice is deep and raspy as always, and I have to bite my lip to keep from sighing.

“Hey, handsome,” I reply, smiling wider than I should. “I’m back at the hotel; do you want to meet?”

“Yeah, I know. Hobi hyung saw you and your friend Max in the lobby. Are you free now? We should talk.”

“Um…” Technically, I’m free. I’m just in a towel. But there’s something different about his tone, apart from the fact that he wants to talk. “Where are you? I’ll meet you.”

“Oh, uh…” This time, he falters. “I’m actually on your floor… not too far from your room,” he adds, sounding slightly sheepish. “I’m sorry, I can wait. Let me know when you’re free.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” I say quickly. “You can come in. Just…” I look into the full-length mirror; aside from the fact that I’m in a towel with wet hair, I look okay. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, I’m coming.” Phone still at my ear, I go to the door and look through the peephole. Even distorted, his figure takes my breath away. Hesitating for a fraction of a second, I open the door and step back behind it, letting him in. He enters and looks around for a moment before spotting me and his eyes widen.

“Oh… I can - I can come back if you’re - if you need a few minutes to -”

“Tae,” I interrupt, shutting the door behind him, “you saw me naked for hours last night. It’s okay.”

He raises an eyebrow in agreement. “True. You still look beautiful,” he says generously, kissing me on the cheek.

“So many compliments,” I remark teasingly, walking past him and into the bedroom so I can change. “Not all of us have stylists that can make us look all effortless and sexy all the time, you know.”

“How was the briefing?” he asks, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, letting out a low whistle as I let my towel drop.

Taehyung laughs as he follows me inside. “I’ve changed out of the sexy clothes now in any case, if that helps.” And he has. I don’t know how he manages to do it, but in the time I’ve known him, he’s gone from idol post concert, to boyfriend date material, to runway model, and back to cuddly boyfriend material. Now, in a baggy black sweater and dark grey joggers, I feel like climbing into bed with him and doing nothing else.

I throw the towel at him before starting to pull on my clothes. "It was okay. Just have to hope it doesn't rain tomorrow or we're going to have to prepare ourselves for a ton of crashes," I tell him, shuddering a little at the thought.

"What happened to the idiot who crashed into you?" Taehyung's question is casual enough, but I can hear the snippy edge to it.

"He got a penalty. That's the best we can get, believe me," I add when he scoffs. "What, were you really that worried?" I ask again, a little teasingly this time, now fully dressed and walking up to him.

"Of course, I was," he says in a low voice, pulling me to him by the hand so I come between his legs, and wrapping his arms around my waist. "I think it might’ve killed me if you'd gotten hurt," he adds in a mumble, pulling me in further.

Rolling my eyes a bit at his dramatics, I hug him back automatically as he tilts his head slightly and rests his forehead on the side of my neck. Softly, I run my fingers through his long hair, breathing in his scent, overwhelmingly touched by how worried he was.

The longer we stay there, the more the hug seems to become less about my crash and more about just holding each other - no, clutching each other, but without making it obvious that we are.

"I need to tell you something," he says quietly after a while, his hold on me loosening slightly.

I pull away and step back. "Okay," I say slowly, suddenly nervous about what to expect.

Taehyung stands up, hands in his pockets, head bent low as though contemplating what to say. "I know I was being a bit…" He's searching for the word, I realise. He's nervous. "... distant today," he says after a few moments. "I didn't realise how it would look to you. That you'd think that I didn't care or - or you were a fling or whatever."

His eyes flicker up to me for a moment, as though making sure I'm still here. "It was really the opposite, actually. I felt… a lot of things. It was confusing and - and I needed to figure it out by myself before I…" He trails off. "Basically, I think… Dilara, I think -"

My eyes widen the moment I realise what he's about to say. "Taehyung -"

"- I'm in love with you."

My heart jolts so hard I think it may break. "No," I breathe, realising too late that I've said it out loud.

His face falls very slightly, but remains the same smooth, impassive one I saw all day. He looks at the floor, hands still in his pockets and long hair obscuring his face from me, clearly processing a reaction he didn't expect.

"I'm - I'm sorry," I stutter. "I didn't mean… Tae, why would you tell me that?" I ask, hearing how desperate I sound.

He gives a small shrug. "It's how I feel."

"But… but you know nothing can happen," I say, shaking my head. "Why would you -"

"I know nothing can happen. I just want you to know how I feel," he says, and I think I hear a note of impatience there as well. When I don't reply, he scoffs. "What, is that so bad?"

"It's not bad at all, Tae," I say quickly, trying to blink back tears now. "But you're just making this harder! We know we can't be -"

"Dilara, I know, okay?" he snaps. "This is hard for me, too. You think I expected to fall in love with a world-famous athlete one fine weekend? You think I planned this?"

I bite my lip. "Do you regret it?"

"Meeting you? Not a single moment," he answers immediately. "I just want you to know." He pauses. "I'd want to know."

You know, though. It's obvious; he knows how I feel, too. The way he's looking at me, how he knew I'd follow him out of the drivers' lounge - it makes complete sense. I'm in love with him, too - not V of BTS, but Kim Taehyung, Tae, the man who knew to take me to hang out with puppies and slow danced with me in the middle of nowhere, who got jealous because he saw me do the same with another man.

"Tae…" I bite my lip, feeling my eyes prickle. “Of course, I -” But I can’t continue. Saying it is a whole lot different from simply feeling it; putting it out there, establishing that we love each other, especially when we know it can go nowhere - it’s insane.

I take a deep breath but it comes out all ragged and I cringe, hoping he doesn’t notice but it’s pointless, for a second later he’s walking up to me and taking my hands in his, gently pulling me closer.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, running his thumb over my knuckles. “I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have said anything.”

But I shake my head and look up at him. “I don’t regret anything either,” I tell him honestly. “I just… it’s a lot, you know? It’s scary.” He bites his lip, looking very much as though he’s trying to understand. I don’t know how else to put it, so I just reach up and kiss him, hard and deep, hoping it conveys what I need it to.

For a moment I think he’s going to push me away, but at the last moment he pulls me closer to him by my waist, so close, so tight, like he’s afraid he’ll never get the chance again. Which he might not, I think as I pull at his hair, and the thought makes me want to cry again.

We land up in bed, neither of us willing to let the other go. It’s a combination of haste, fear, desperation - and love. So much love. I may not be able to say it but I want him to know, too. I hold his face when I can, mark his neck and chest as much as I can, moan his name as loud as I can. Somewhere during it all, when Taehyung’s lowered himself down and has his head between my legs, I say it.

I don’t know if he’s heard it; it’s only a whisper and the only indication he gives me that he may have heard it is a slight pause with his tongue, where he pulls away for a moment and kisses my inner thigh before continuing. When we’re done, we’re done. I’m fucking exhausted, with being on my feet all day, a Qualifying, constantly worrying about whether or not I’ve been pseudo-dumped.

“I have to go,” says Taehyung after a while, voice soft and deep. I look up from where our fingers are intertwined on my torso, suddenly fearful. He turns to look at me and hurriedly adds, “Just for a while. We have to do a livestream on our last day in Japan and Namjoon hyung wants all of us there.”

I nod, not knowing how else to respond. “Okay. I’ll go get dinner, then. I’m sure Lexie has me on the most boring chicken and salad for race weekend, even in the land of sushi.” I’m rambling and I know it, as I sit up and start looking for my clothes, avoiding his gaze.

“I’ll see you after, okay?” Taehyung appears in my peripheral vision, pulling on his t-shirt and joggers. He ruffles his hair and we meet in front of the bed. There’s a moment where we don’t know what to do. I can tell he’s hesitating, the fact that I haven’t said I love him not skipping his mind. I don’t want to particularly prolong this either, but something just feels… too much. It’s too overwhelming, the looming feeling of a goodbye to a person I barely know.

I see him raise his hand slightly, so I immediately take a small step back. “Yeah. See you later.”

He drops his hand and nods. At the last moment, he kisses the top of my head and leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.

sweet night

An hour later, I get back to my room after an early dinner with Lexie. I told her everything - everything except the I love you part. She seemed to have pieced at least part of it together by the time I told her, but she hung on to every detail, gasping at all the right parts, whistling when I told her how good the sex was (because it so was).

She’d groaned more about the fact that I’d actually met some of them. “God, I hope they come to another race. Stupid food poisoning.”

Now, I stand alone in my bedroom, wondering what to do now. On a normal race weekend, I’d have dinner with Lexie (and Fred and Chris if they were there), take a warm shower, maybe go out for a walk with my earphones on, and go to bed early. Now, all I can think about is Taehyung - or, more specifically, the lack of Taehyung after tomorrow.

What am I supposed to do? Do we say goodbye? Is it a break-up? Or is it just an amicable farewell, acknowledging a fun weekend and going our own way? I might have thought it was the latter, until he blurted out the L word. I’m almost mad at him for complicating it like this, enough that I have half a mind to ghost him if he calls and avoid the shit out of him until I have to leave for my flight. It’s a bitchy, bitchy move, but it could just be the only way to avoid any real heartbreak.

A small, tiny part of me is happy, though. No, not happy. Ecstatic. A part of me is fucking ecstatic that he loves me, that Kim fucking Taehyung fell in love with me in less than two days, that average old me managed to confuse the sexiest, most talented and mysterious person I’ve ever met. Of course, I fell in love with him, too. There’s no point denying it now, not to myself. Weekend fling or not, I’m completely in love with Taehyung; I just don’t know where it takes us from here.

When I meet him later that night, I still don’t know. He calls me about half an hour after I’m done with dinner, asking if I want to come over. I can’t stay cooped up in a hotel room, though, so I suggest that we go to the gardens, to the most secluded area we can find. He agrees, and I meet him ten minutes later, wearing my leather jacket over a baggy Beatles t-shirt and sweatpants. Coincidentally enough, Tae’s still in the same light sweater and joggers, with a long black overcoat thrown on top of it.

You’re even wearing matching outfits. Jungkook’s voice rings through my head when I see him, when he sees me and he smiles. It’s not his normal boxy smile; it’s smaller, sadder, but so heartbreakingly beautiful that I can’t help it, and even before I say hi, I blurt it out.

“Saranghae.”

There’s a brief pause where he stares at me as if he’s heard it wrong - or I’ve said it wrong - and I want to slap myself for deliberately complicating it because, really, why did I have to go say it in Korean? Chris would lose his shit if he heard you right now, Komyshan. I take a deep breath, hoping to say literally anything to cover it up, but he smiles again and chuckles.

“Really?”

It’s out there now. I wait for the regret to come but looking at how obviously happy it makes him, I can’t seem to find it. I bite my lip, feeling myself smile as well. “Yeah. Saranghae… very much.”

That makes him laugh, his deep, throaty laugh as he walks over to me and hugs me, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing the side of my head. “I love you, too,” he murmurs, and I know he means it. I hug him back, tightly, suddenly glad I’ve said it because it might just have been my only chance.

We don’t talk about anything deep after that; I think we both consciously stay away from it, not wanting our last night together to be any harder than it already is. I have a race tomorrow and he senses that I’m stressing almost immediately. So we talk about the race. I explain the track to him, why Suzuka is harder than most, why the expectations from me are sky high while I’m in the privileged yet unfortunate position to be Max Verstappen’s teammate.

He listens with complete concentration. Eventually we sit under a clump of trees, nothing but us and the grass and softly chirping crickets.

“It’s bad enough doing Suzuka for the first time,” I sigh, absently pulling blades of grass out of the ground. “But doing it from P9? So fucking unfair.” I want to kick something before I immediately remind myself to calm down. “Nope. Nope. I can’t… uh, I can’t do this.”

Taehyung frowns. “Can’t do what?”

“I can’t stress or get angry or - or do anything that takes my focus away from the race. Not tonight.” And it’s like a lightbulb goes off in my head. I know now, finally, what’s been bothering me all day, while he was supposedly ignoring me, when he told me he loved me, when I told him the same.

I must look troubled, for I feel his hand on my knee. “Dilara?”

My eyes rise slowly to meet his. “Tae,” I begin, swallowing, hating this but knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that I have to do this. He raises his eyebrows slightly in response. “I - can I ask you for something?”

He nods. “Anything.”

Goodbye, Tae. You’re going to hate me forever. I lick my lips slowly. “Can - can you…” I take in his big, concerned eyes, his long hair and how he’s biting down on his lip in anticipation, and it’s too hard. “Forget it. I can’t ask you to do that,” I say instead, shaking my head.

But he doesn’t let it go. “Dilara,” he says again, squeezing my knee. “Come on. Ask me.”

I think about how much he says he cares, how much he wants me to succeed. Maybe this is how I see if it’s true. “Can you - can you not come to the race tomorrow? To the paddock?” The silence that follows my question seems deafening. “It’s just… I need to focus tomorrow, more than ever. And with you there… I just don’t think that’s possible.”

Taehyung’s face is back to being its smooth, impassive one. I can’t tell what he’s thinking and for a moment I’m deathly afraid that I’ve said something very wrong. But then he nods once. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I say without thinking. “I just don’t know if I can handle -” I break off again but this time because my throat gets stuck and I can feel myself, finally, about to cry.

He seems to realise it, too. “Hey, no, don’t apologise,” he says softly, picking up my hands and bringing them to his chest. “Dilara, it’s okay. You’re going to be amazing tomorrow,” he tells me, bringing one hand up to my face and looking me right in the eyes. “Don’t worry about me. You’ll be great.” He chuckles softly, almost as though he’s just realised it himself. “You’re a force of nature, baby.”

I nod, my vision starting to blur now. “Don’t forget me, okay?” I say quickly, sniffling and looking at the ground.

Taehyung scoffs quietly, and I can tell he’s on the verge of losing control, too. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he murmurs, reaching forward and kissing me. I lean into the kiss immediately, without question, without shame. He pulls me onto his lap and I comply, straddling him and holding his face, kissing him so deeply, knowing now with certainty that I will never get this chance again, that this is finally goodbye.

I can feel his ring against the side of my face as he kisses me back with the same desperation and longing, both of us forgetting where we are, what time it is, what’s to come tomorrow. It’s just Taehyung; there’s nothing else in the world for me right now. Our kisses are all lips and tongue and teeth, nipping at each other’s lips and grabbing whatever we can: shoulders, hair, waist, clothes, chest, hips.

I don’t know when we separate and finally decide to walk back to the hotel building. We still have to keep a reasonable distance between us so we enter separately but get into the same elevator. The walk until there is silent; we’ve exhausted everything we needed to say to each other. Anymore and we break down and I, at the very least, cannot afford to do that tonight. I have to hold it in; I don’t have a choice.

Unfortunately, we aren’t the only ones in the elevator. It’s a Japanese couple and businessman already in there when we enter, giving us no choice but to stand quietly, separately. My floor arrives before his but when the doors open, I’m suddenly rooted to the spot. It’s not until I feel Tae’s hand brush my back and nudge me forward that I actually step forward and out. As the doors close, I glance back one last time, seeing his smooth, impassive face looking back at me.

When I head back to my room, I shut the door behind me and pause. I have to collect myself; I cannot break down tonight. This race is too important and my Qualifying disadvantage means that I need double the focus, double the determination, double the mental strength to cut through the field and finish at a decent position.

I take a seat on the sofa, breathing slowly through my nose, focusing on it as much as I can. I lean back when I feel something soft behind me. I reach for it and see a black hoodie, the same one I wore to a dog park a million years ago and the same one I saw this morning, thinking my one-night stand had accidentally forgotten it.

I pull out my phone and, hesitating, drop him a message. I have your hoodie, I write and send it. I don’t say anymore, like how it smells of him, how wearing it would probably feel like a hug from him, how much I’m hoping I can keep it.

The reply comes almost instantly. And I have yours.

---

The next morning when I wake up, my heart hurts and for a moment I can’t remember why. Then I feel the soft material of the hoodie I fell asleep clutching and I remember. Do not cry, I remind myself sternly. Not today. I bury my nose in the soft fleece interior for a moment and take a deep breath before I swing my legs over the side and get ready for the day.

I enter the restaurant for breakfast warily, but it’s pointless, for no one from the group is here yet. I suppose they’re sleeping in, given it’s a Sunday, for which I’m thankful. Lexie and I eat breakfast with Max and Dean and Lando and Blake, before heading down to the paddock.

I try to immerse myself in anything and everything that will distract me from how heavy my chest still feels. I focus on literally every word Christian and Simon say to me, trying to forget how deep Taehyung’s voice sounded in my ear; I go over my newly repaired car with the mechanics, trying to forget how Taehyung’s arms looked as he hovered over me in the grass on Friday. It’s near impossible, but I try my best.

Evidently it’s not working great, because something seems to show on my face. Max asks, Danny asks, Seb asks. Even Natalie Pinkham asks - on camera. I shake my head each time and make a joke about it simply being a resting bitch face, trying not to think about another resting bitch face I’ve come to know and love recently.

When the band enters the paddock, I can feel my heart in my mouth. I watch them pass by me, agonizingly counting only six members as they enter the garage. I try to avoid them. I feel like even the slightest reminder of Taehyung can reduce me to tears at any moment. It’s bad enough when Lexie tells me nonchalantly that apparently Tae is feeling under the weather which is why he isn’t here; even eye contact with those guys would be too much.

I hold it together with immense effort all through the day, during the pre-race build-up, the parade - everything. The real trouble comes just before the race, after I’m in my unzipped race suit, hair pinned back specifically so it fits comfortably inside the balaclava. Everyone’s wishing me luck since I’m due in the car in about five minutes; Christian is thanking the sponsors and chatting everyone up, and it’s too late before I realise the group that’s slowly forming around us.

The six BTS members present are finally here, for the customary picture or some sort of PR appearance, probably. I’ve seen them around the garage today, of course; they’ve all wished me luck at some point or the other, in passing. But seeing them here, all together - it just highlights the fact that one of them is missing… because I told him to be. When I look at the rest of the guys, I can’t help but imagine something accusatory in the way they’re looking at me.

My chest feels heavy again. I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, or if it even matters. I suddenly feel so alone, so alone without him which doesn’t make sense, just like everything else. I’m twenty minutes away from the race, fifteen from being out there on the track, ten from settling inside the car - and I feel like my heart could break.

Before I know it, I can feel my face contorting and all my resolve to not cry since last night shatters, and I break down. Right there in the middle of the garage, in front of Lexie, Christian, Simon, a bunch of mechanics - and the members of BTS. I hide my face in my hand immediately, trying not to sob, and excuse myself, hurrying into my dressing room and shutting the door behind me.

All I can hope for is that the Red Bull folks think it’s nerves about my starting position and nothing else. BTS, I’m sure, will know it’s not but there’s nothing I can do about that. I don’t care what they think of me; they don’t know, I tell myself, how hard it is, how bleak it all seems now that it’s the end. There’s only one person who really knows and he’s not here, and it’s because of me, and it just hurts so bad.

My phone buzzes. Are you okay?

I half-chuckle through my tears. I'm sure one of the members informed him the second I started crying - my money's on Jimin or Jungkook. How do I answer him, though? I can't lie; it's too much effort and also, I don't want to.

No.

Do you want me to come? I can be there in 20 minutes.

I picture him sitting in his room, hunched over his phone, his long-haired silhouette looking pristine against the grey sky outside. Is he worried? He sounds worried.

I have to be out on the track in 15.

I can't make up my mind about whether his next response is what I wanted. Don't worry, I'll be there.

Regardless, I have to go out now. This breakdown was embarrassing enough but I can't do badly in this race and have it be said that it's because I can't handle pressure. The F1 community would slaughter me and I'd probably ruin it for every other girl that wants to enter the sport.

So I go out, my media face plastered on and joke it away. Ten minutes later I'm strapped into the car and being carted onto the track. When it's thirty seconds to the formation lap, I grip my steering wheel, eyes blazing, looking at nothing but Carlos Sainz's rear wing in front of me and the gap I intend to leverage when the lights go out.

You're a force of nature, baby.

I grip the steering wheel harder. You're goddamn right I am. When the formation lap ends and we take our positions on the grid, my focus is singular. My foot is on the clutch, ready to release it at the right moment, when the lights go out.

When I climb out of my car two hours later, I don’t know what to expect, mostly because it’s so unexpected. I vaguely register the hands patting my head and my shoulder, Lewis coming up behind me and hugging me, running up to Max and practically jumping into his arms as he hugs me tightly.

I’m hot and sweaty as I take off my helmet and balaclava, shaking my hair out and hearing a roaring in my ears. I’m pushed forward for my interview but all I can hear is the cheering of the crowd, the booming of voices and the sound of my own heartbeat. I force myself to focus on Jenson Button, handsome face smiling down at me like the sun.

“Dilara!” he exclaims, holding the mic. “A sensational drive to P2 today! Congratulations - how do you feel right now?”

There’s a question. I’m still panting, feeling my face stretch from smiling. “Um - hasn’t sunk in yet, to be honest,” I say finally. “I knew it was going to be difficult because of where I was starting from and Suzuka doesn’t have a lot of overtaking capability, but…” I shrug, still trying to gather my thoughts. “We got lucky with the safety car and then Max had built up a really good lead so by the time I came out of the pits, we had the McLarens behind us by a decent gap, I think. But the real victory is for our mechanics,” I add honestly, hearing a cheer go up from the stands. “My car was shattered yesterday but they did it, you know? They fixed it and it felt perfect today, so… this is for you guys.”

Walking up onto the podium is surreal. It’s not the first time; it’s my third this year, actually, but never after a drive like this. P9 to P2 is all that’s ringing in my ears. I step up onto the second place dias, my overalls unzipped and hanging around my waist, my hair long and messy down my shoulders, my chest light and full. I know I’m going to cry - I’m pretty sure I already am. All the stress and anxiety feels worth it now, though, and as I scan the crowd, I know I can do this again.

I see the Red Bull team - my team - looking up at a 1-2 result with victory in their eyes; Christian is applauding, crow’s feet visible even from this distance, Geri at his side looking radiant; all the ex-drivers from Jenson to Nico Rosberg, DC - everyone looks like they’ve experienced the race of the season. The Minister of Sports hands me my trophy then and a loud cheer goes up. I raise the trophy in the air and look back at my people: Lexie, looking happier than ever, standing next to BTS - and now I spot the face I’ve been wanting to see all day.

Looking up at me with a smile I’ve only dreamed about, Taehyung claps with everyone else, his long hair unstyled and blowing lightly in the breeze, wearing what looks like a black bomber jacket. From all the way up here, I can see the pride in his face, the euphoria, all the love he confessed he felt last night. Whether or not I was crying before this, I’m definitely crying now, still smiling but wiping away my tears as well.

He seems so far away but it makes my heart full to know that he’s here, that this proud and happy Taehyung is the last one I see before I leave. I blow him a small kiss, trying not to make it obvious but hoping he’ll know it’s for him. We hold each other’s gaze all through the anthem until everyone picks up the champagne and, less than a minute in, I’m drenched in cold liquor.

We pose for the podium picture, me a whole head shorter than my companions but just as capable, still looking down only at Taehyung, the love I never saw coming, and who will forever be the one that got away. When we get off the podium and I take off my drenched fireproof top, the first person to hug me is Lexie. Right behind her, I see Jimin approaching me, his famous and beautiful smile wide and breathtaking. Ignoring my protests at how gross and sticky I am, he wraps his arms around me in a tight, enveloping hug.

“This is from Taehyung,” he says softly in my ear, and I nod into his shoulder, unable to stop the tears now.

“Is he still here?” I ask shakily, clutching at Jimin’s jacket, already knowing the answer.

He shakes his head. “He left. But he watched the whole thing. And he’s so proud of you.”

It’s all I can ask for, understanding better than anyone that all our goodbyes were already said last night. Jimin pulls away and kisses me on the cheek, and I know it’s a goodbye from the guys as well, to a girl their Taehyung fell in love with.

I don’t expect to see him again. I don’t know what I would say, how it would help anything, how it could possibly make saying goodbye any easier. I’m leaving the hotel lobby with my suitcase in tow, spotting my cab waiting for me outside, Lando already settled in the backseat, when I hear the receptionist calling my name.

“A gentleman left this for you,” she says, handing me a small beige envelope.

I frown, taking it. It's small; too small for a letter. I open it and turn it upside down and my heart skips a beat. It's a ring - a very familiar ring, white gold and probably meant to be worn on an index finger. There's no note or anything else, but I don't need one. The meaning is clear as day.

If I have to guess, I'd say seeing me today was as hard for Taehyung as it was for me to see him. Ithink back to the pause after I’d asked him not to come last night, and I know his heart is just as broken as mine is. If I know him as well as I think I do, he's saying it just as much as I wanted to - that this isn't goodbye.

Later that evening, I'm at the airport when I take a selfie with Lando. His arm is around my shoulder but all I'm focused on is the black hoodie I’m wearing, the V-shaped peace sign I'm making with my hand and the long silver chain around my neck which has a ring around it, resting right over my heart. Smiling with a myriad of emotions, I upload it.

—

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